ver now. All the wedding clothes were
ready. Autumn was come.

"Only four weeks and the wedding-day will have come," said the
field-mouse.

And little Thumbelina wept.

"I will not marry the tiresome old mole," she said.

"I shall bite you with my white tooth if you talk such nonsense," said
the field-mouse. "Among all my friends not one of them has such a fine
velvet coat as the mole. His cellars are full and his rooms are large.
You ought to be glad to marry so well," she ended.

"Was there no escape from the underground home?" little Thumbelina
wondered.

The wedding-day came. The mole arrived to fetch his little bride.

How could she say good-by for ever to the beautiful sunshine?

"Farewell, farewell!" she cried, and waved her little hands towards
the glorious sun.

"Farewell, farewell!" she cried, and threw her tiny arms round a
little red flower growing at her feet.

"Tell the dear swallow, when he comes again," she whispered to the
flower, "tell him I will never forget him."

"Tweet, tweet!" what was that Thumbelina heard? "Tweet, tweet!" Could
it be the swallow?

The flutter of wings was round her. Little Thumbelina looked. How glad
she was, for there, indeed, was the little bird she had tended and
cared for so long. She told him, weeping, she must not stay. She
must marry the mole and live underground, and never see the sun, the
glorious sun.

"Come with me, come with me, little Thumbelina," twittered the
swallow. "You can sit on my back, and I will fly with you to warmer
countries, far from the tiresome old mole. Over mountains and seas we
will fly to the country where the summer never ends, and the sunlight
always shines."

Then little Thumbelina seated herself on her dear swallow's back, and
put her tiny feet on his outstretched wing. She tied herself firmly
with her little sash to the strongest feather of the bird.

And the swallow soared high into the air. High above forests and
lakes, high above the big mountains that were crested with snow, he
soared.

And little Thumbelina shivered as she felt the cold air, but soon she
crept under the bird's warm feathers, and only pushed out her little
head to see the beauty all around her.

They had reached the warm countries now. The sun was more brilliant
here, the flowers more radiant.

On and on flew the swallow, till he came to a white marble palace.
Half-ruined it was, and vine leaves trailed up the long slender
pillars. And among the